What’s up everyone? How’s life? Great.
This is, of course, Answers for questions. You ask me stuff, i answer. I need questions though…that’s where you come in. please send me questions about ANYTHING to phatfriendblog@gmail.com or leave them in the comment section below. Also, I’m accepting “Ask Dr. Tony” Questions as well , if you’re having life problems.
This weeks batch starts out interestingly as I basically am asked to make up a story on some “creative writing 101” shit…but it was fun. So, feel free to ask me those kind of things as well. Why not?

After a night of extremely heavy drinking, you awake to find yourself in the back of cement truck, wearing clogs and dungarees. The King of Sweden has passed out next to you, there are grapes all over the floor and, in the distance, a village is on fire. How did it happen?
The night started out like any other. I was passing through Stolkholm , on my way back from some tour dates. Having a day off, I was roaming aimlessly around the city. Bored, I sheepishly enter a bar and have a seat. Some Soccer is on TV and the place is pretty riled up. I don’t give a fuck about soccer but some dude next to me really does and keeps buying everyone drinks. I am no exception. As the night progresses, I talk more to this man and learn he is the “King of Sweden”. Well, that’s what he says. He’s actually just a really drunk Swede who loves company. Nice enough guy and everyone seems to know him well enough. They call him “Kung”. After a few hours, I am properly wrecked. The whole bar is. I guess some local Soccer team won something or whatever but the party does not stop here. Along with a group of about 20 people, we all leave the bar and head to our second destination. We hop in various cars. Weird cars. Some are sports cars, some look like they belong to the city. Threre’s even a tractor and a garbage truck…an american garbage truck at that but I was too drunk to ask any questions.
We drive for what seems like hours (it was probably like 30 minutes) and pull into a grape orchard. I didn’t even realize that could exist near Stolkholm but I guess it does. Everyone takes their shoes off and runs towards a small wooden shack in the middle of the orchard. Keep in mind, I don’t speak swedish so I’m just kinda blindly following whatever these lunatics are doing. With my shoes in hand, I get to the shack and am handed some clogs. “Des, a fur stompin!” says the woman who gives them to me. “Also, you might to take off your pants! it get messy!” she said in broken english. So, I take off my pants, put on the clogs and enter the shack. Inside, there’s a huge vat of grapes. We are hear to stomp on grapes…doesn’t seem sanitary but, hey, the fuck if I know how wine is made. Everyone dumps into the vat and just starts stomping around. It’s actually a pretty fun drunken activity. Everyone seems to really be enjoying themselves. I notice that, as this goes on, the act is getting more and more aggressive. As if this is more of a mosh pit. I see people start to throw one another down. All of a sudden , in my drunk stupor, I realize this isn’t some normal grape stomping party. No…this is a battle royale. At that moment. a small blonde man jumps on my back and tries to take me down. he’s small enough that I just flip him over my shoulder. I see as he falls into the pit, a collage of feet, stomping away at his petite frame like so many grapes. It’s then when I get scared and realize I must make an exit. Doing my best Beastmode impression, I lower my shoulders and plow through a sea of drunken swedes. I get to the edge of the vat and barrel roll over the side. It’s only like a 5 foot drop so I land safely enough. Partially cause I land on a pile of passed out bodies. Are they dead? I don’t really know. Not trying to find out. The action in the vat is such that I am able to sneak out the cabin unnoticed…but here I am…Alone in a swedish wine vineyard with no pants. I look in the distance and see a few of the people ambling towards the garbage truck. I figure they might be my only way out of there. Right then, I notice a pile of pants outside the door. I can’t find mine but I find some really awkward dungarees that don’t really fit me, but fuck it…they will have to do. I stiffly run towards the garbage truck, clogs kicking up dirt as I go. The two guys are now in the front seat and the garbage truck is pulling off. I make it just in time to hope in the back without being noticed. As I jump in, I crack my head on the side on some big metal part of the truck. I pass out.
I don’t know how long I’ve been out but, when I awaken, I’m sitting there, in clogs and dungarees. Grapes everywhere. I look in the distance and the entire vineyard is ablaze. I turn my head and see “The king of Sweden” , laying there with a little smirk on his face, eyes half shut in that “still drunk” kinda way.. I ask “What the fuck just happened!?!?” and he looks at me and says “Soccer, man”.
The end.

i like to think of myself as a highly functional stoner. what do you suppose the odds are i’m bullshitting myself?
I’ve definitely met many high functioning stoners so it’s not totally impossible. i do think the average stoner who thinks that doesn’t realize what being functional can truly be like but, yeah, you got a chance. I’d say, if you can read a book, make reservations or do your work while high AND be effective, you’re good at being high. Congrats. But if being a functional stoner means not forgetting to pick your kid up from school, might be time to reevaluate your life.

are you able to keep houseplants alive? do you keep any houseplants?
I have never tried but I’d imagine , if I wanted to, I would be very good at that. I’m one of those people who, if I get a regiment, I stick to it. So, if watering a plant became something I did every day, then I’d do it. That said, I travel way too much for that to work and I never wanna be a person who asks another person “Hey man, can you water my plants while I’m gone?”.

from your travels, what do you suppose the best alternative to nyc is for a person who wants to live cheap? if you ever had money troubles, would you move out of nyc? where would you go?

I mean…there isn’t anywhere like NYC that’s cheap. It wouldn’t be cheap cause everyone would wanna live there.
I guess somewhere like Toronto would be my first choice. It’s not cheap but, compared to NYC it is. It’s a fun city.
Or maybe , if you want that old NYC feel, Philly. Again, not the same as NYC at all but it’s an east coast city with flavor and history. Can’t say I’d ever wanna live there but it’s at least nearby and not Boston.
If I came into money problems and couldn’t afford NYC, I really don’t know what I’d do. San Francisco would be my second choice but that’s as, if not more, expensive as NYC. Honestly, I’m thinking it won’t be an issue cause I own my apartment. Worst case, I can live here for cheap, forever. Maybe even rent it out for a profit, and live off that.

what do you do when you get really fucking bored at home?
I bask in boredom. I spend the bulk of most of my days at home, bored and I love it. I watch tv, I watch movies, I play video games, I eat, I eat more, I look at the internet. I’m very content doing nothing. Honestly, it’s when I’m bored that I make the most music too. So, it kinda works itself out. To me, boredom at home isn’t a bad thing…cause it results in me doing things I love doing anyway.

When you were a kid, do you remember the first music you heard that you loved? When did you first hear rap?

The first song I recall ever hearing that i loved was “Eye of the tiger” by survivor. I was in Maine with my family (my dad taught at an art school up there for the summer) and it came on the radio and I distinctly recall freaking out over it and singing it over and over again. That and the theme to “The greatest american hero” are my earliest memories of music.
The first time i heard rap was not long after that, maybe two years…when the movie “Beat Street” came out. i was about 8 years old. I made my mom take me to it (and she did, which still blows my mind to this day). The Santa rap was the first I ever heard and I was obsessed the second I saw it.